


be all my sins remembered

by spoopyy



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Vampires, Angst, Begging, Blood, Blow Jobs, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Disease, Drowning, Immortality, M/M, Rough Sex, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Unsafe Sex, War, descriptions of violence, historically inaccurate but i tried, mentions of graphic suicide attempt, slight biting, unprotected sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-22 07:41:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11962821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spoopyy/pseuds/spoopyy
Summary: In every lifetime, they find each other.





	be all my sins remembered

**Author's Note:**

> So this fic is kind of weird, but bear with me. I changed the names on purpose: to me, it didn't make sense for Shane to have the same name throughout the entirety of this fic, simply because I feel like he'd adapt to both the time period and the location. Likewise, I changed Ryan's name because I don't think that one would keep their name throughout their multiple incarnations. If you're ever confused as to who is who, please note that this fic is written in Shane's POV; he's the vampire, and he's always going to be looking for Ryan. In the first scene, Shane is Florian and Ryan is Opilio. 
> 
> Second, there are many warnings for this fic. They are as follows: major character death, angst, drowning [nongraphic], descriptions of violence, blood, war, mention of disease [nongraphic], heartbreak, suicidal thoughts, mention of graphic suicide attempt, immortality, etc. There's also an nsfw scene towards the end. The warnings for that are: unsafe sex/unprotected sex, dirty talk, begging, daddy kink, blow jobs, rough sex, slight biting. Major thanks to InkStainsOnMyHands for helping me with the Spanish and the sex scene! I don't know how to do the hover texts for translation, so please let me know how! 
> 
> If I forgot a warning, please tell me and I will add it! 
> 
> Lastly, the title is taken from Shakespeare's _Hamlet_. It's part of Hamlet's soliloquy. 
> 
> I'm sorry if this isn't your cup of tea.

_1453 - Byzantine Empire_

Soldiers from all over the Roman Empire meet in Constantinople, because there are _whispers,_ rumors of attack. Some say that it’s from the East but no one is definite, and they can’t be sure, because to lose a man to spying right now would be against their favor. They need all the manpower they can get, after all. It’s their only asset in times like this.

“I’ve heard it’s coming from the Ottomans,” Opilio says, his boyish features gleaming in the darkness, honey eyes illuminated. The torches that Constantine’s army brought shine bright at their meeting place, giving them much needed access to light. They don’t have much time to plan and prepare because the Ottomans could come at any moment and darkness is time lost.

Florian sighs as the other soldiers murmur amongst themselves. While Florian is technically in charge of the unit, Opilio is the one who truly takes command. There’s no smarter strategist, no wiser man, no better shot.

“Where did you hear that?” someone pipes up. Florian wonders the same thing. If Opilio infiltrated the enemy’s ranks, he’d be considered a traitor no matter what, and that thought is enough to make Florian’s heart clench in the most painful way. To think Opilio a traitor, well, he can’t even fathom it. Opilio would never.

Florian hates himself for even entertaining the idea, for even letting it run through his mind. But they’ve been betrayed before, and it’s something Florian will always remember.

“I heard it from one of the locals. They like to talk,” Opilio says with a shrug. The murmuring gets louder and Florian is worried; too much noise could break their cover and expose them, forcing them into a battle they aren’t prepared to win.

“We will fight, then,” someone says, because Opilio’s word is good enough. He’s always the one to be trusted, after all, as he never hesitates to prove himself time and time again.

“Yes, we will. Everyone, gather your bows, arrows, and axes. Come back here once you’re done so that we can discuss tactics,” Florian commands, and the crowd disperses. He feels guilty, knowing that he’s leading his men out to their deaths, but defending Constantinople is what they have been bred for. If there’s even a chance, a tiny sliver of hope, well, he’ll have to take it.

Opilio doesn’t leave. Instead, he comes to stand right in front of Florian, and although he’s shorter by some means, the look in his eyes is twice as fierce.

“We aren’t going to win. Not against them,” Opilio says, and Florian closes his eyes. He knows that the Ottomans are more equipped when it comes to warfare. They have gunpowder, after all.

Hesitantly, Opilio reaches out to caress Florian’s face. His resolve almost breaks, then, because he’s finally faced with what he can’t stand to lose.

“Opilio, no, don’t do this to me,” Florian says, laying his hand on top of Opilio’s. “I’m not prepared to lose you.” That comes out as a whisper, and Opilio frowns.

“It’s going to happen, one way or another. That’s what soldiers sacrifice, remember?” Opilio says, eyes full of so much heartbreak.

“I don’t want to remember,” Florian says, shaking his head. Opilio steadies him with another hand, cradling his head. They’ve lost so much, the both of them, and to lose each other would be a pain like they have never experienced before.

“Win or lose, fight or flight, you know how I feel about you,” Opilio whispers. Florian nods. When they’d confessed their love for one another for the first time, it was in the midst of another battle, one that they won at a cost far too high. Opilio had gotten injured then, and Florian had to drag his body many miles just to save him.

This time, though, they won’t have that option. The Ottomans are simply too strong, and they both know it, because Opilio kisses Florian’s head, slow and lingering.

“I love you,” Opilio says. Opilio kisses him on the lips this time.

“I love you too,” Florian responds, and tries not to cry.

~

The lose the battle. The Ottomans simply have much better weapons; there’s no competing with guns, and with as many able bodied men as Constantinople has, it’s not enough.

Florian picks himself up off of the floor, because the battle hasn’t ended just yet. The Ottomans like to add insult to injury, it seems, and although most of Constantinople’s men are lost, the ones that are living put up a good fight. There are arrows flying high above him, perfect arches poised to strike. He can hear the popping of gunshots, smell the smoke in the air from the guns that go off.

From the corner of his eye, he can see Opilio fighting an Ottoman. Skilled though he is, Opilio’s sword is no match for the Ottoman’s artillery. Florian watches for just a split second too late, because he’s attacked and held down before he even has time to think.

Whatever’s on top of him is heavy, and it’s nothing like he’s ever seen before. This creature sure doesn’t look like the enemy. No -  pale skin, red eyes, and sharp teeth are not the norm, and before his brain can even process what he’s looking at, he feels a pain at his neck and he’s helpless to it. He can’t even fight this thing off, and no matter how strong he is, somehow, this creature is stronger.

As he lays there, trying to get this creature off of him, he hears a scream. He turns his head, unknowingly giving whatever’s biting him more access. He doesn’t care, though, because he recognizes that shriek: Opilio is in trouble, and there’s nothing Florian can do about it.

He watches Opilio die, impaled on his own sword, and he can’t even move, much less call for help.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the creature gets off of him, licking it’s fangs. It joins the rest of the Ottomans, who are now retreating back to where they came from.

Florian just lays there, weak. The sun hurts him, but he can’t find it in him to move. It’s like he’s putty, like he can’t support himself, like he’s no longer human.

The thought scares him enough to jerk upright. He slowly makes his way to Opilio’s body, and he’s heartbroken because he knows there isn’t going to be anyone there to claim him, to bury his body and give him the soldier's send off that he deserves.

Florian wants to lay there, wants to so desperately join Opilio, but he knows he can’t. Opilio is gone to him forever, and there’s nothing he can do. It would be pointless to follow; there’s no guarantee they’ll be together in death, no promise of reunion.

So he waits. He waits for who knows how long, because help doesn’t arrive. The first few days, it’s just him and Opilio’s body, surrounded by the rest of the infantry, all of them gone.

To say that Florian has survivor’s guilt is an understatement; every part of him aches with the knowledge that he couldn’t keep his men safe, that they fought a losing battle, that they didn’t take better preventative measures or develop better weapons, that he led them to their deaths and they trusted him with their lives.

It’s too much.

After the fifth day, he runs away. He buries as many of his men as he can, but the grief consumes him. It burns every part of his soul, and the guilt eats him alive. He buries Opilio last and leaves, watching Constantinople burn behind him.

~

He doesn’t know what he is. He’s definitely not human, that’s for sure. Instead, it seems like he’s invincible, a perfectly crafted monster from stories he’s heard as a little boy, the ones his parents warned him about.

He can’t stay out in the sunlight for very long. He burns, it’s like an itch he can’t scratch, so he hides during the day. Traveling by night is optimal, and thanks to his soldier’s upbringing, it isn’t too physically taxing. Still, nothing fatigues him anymore. He finds he doesn’t need to sleep or eat, so he doesn’t forage for food whatsoever. Nevertheless, he craves.

He wants blood and lots of it. It’s a physical need that drives his every move. He kills animals just for their ichor and although it makes his cravings go away, it’s not satisfying.

It’s quite a dull existence, sitting wherever he can find shade until night falls, lost in his own thoughts. He thinks of Constantinople, now worlds away, he thinks of the men he’s lost and what he could’ve done to save them, and he thinks of Opilio.

Thinking hurts too much, but it’s the only thing he has.

He stumbles into Africa and can’t tell how long it took him. He learns a multitude of things there: Voodoo magic, folklore and mythology, and by the end of his stay, he finds out what he is.

_Vampire._

_~_

Mexico is his next destination. It’s been many, many years since he’s left Africa, but he doesn’t look a day older than he was when he fought the Ottomans a lifetime ago. It’s weird, not aging, because aging in others becomes apparent. Short life expectancy coupled with the dangers of the natural world can make aging seem unimportant, but he’s been alive long enough to recognize the signs. He’s used to death, now, and having others die around him.

He’s lived too many lifetimes to count.

Mexico is brand new to him; it’s a new culture, a new way of living. There’s new things to be learned here, especially regarding reincarnation.

“Wait, so you’re telling me people can come back?” he asks, eyes blazing. There’s a certain kind of desperation in his voice, a certain type of longing he’s never known before, a hope he hasn’t felt in a long time.

“Mijo, we are destined to live more than one life. When you die, you are reborn again and again and again. It’s just your soul reawakened forever and ever in a cycle that doesn’t end until time itself does,” someone answers him. “I can see the pain in your eyes. Whoever you lost will come back to you. Just give it time.”

“How will I know?” he asks, desperate.

“You’ll know,” someone else says, taking his hand. “Look them in the eyes, touch them if you can. But trust me, you’ll know.”

He nods, excited.

Maybe there’s hope that Opilio will come back to him one day.

He won’t stop until they’re reunited, at any rate.

So he leaves Mexico behind and heads back to Europe. There’s change coming, and he can sense it a mile away.

He’s ready.

 

* * *

 

_1624 - Italy_

He changes his name to Abramo as soon as he touches Italian soil, and he doesn’t stop trying to learn everything about himself.

He doesn’t know what a _vampire_ is yet, or what exactly he’s capable of. So he reads. Or, at first, he teaches himself to read. There’s a wealth of knowledge during the Renaissance, and he finds himself picking up the vernacular very quickly. He reads everything he can get his hands on: there are novels on humanist philosophy, books on religion, rational thought, ancient Greece and Rome.

He learns that _vampires_ are yet unknown to this part of the world, but that doesn’t stop him from trying. He reads when it’s light out, in the comfort of whatever shade he can find, and when it’s night time, he searches for his soulmate. He’s not even sure if his soulmate is in Italy, but he’s already settled and leaving now would only make him all the more frustrated. Still, though, he’s haunted by thoughts of _what if,_ and _I’ve missed him_ and _I’m never gonna find him._ It hurts, but so does not knowing.

He goes to a library, one day. It’s new in town, just opened up next to the markets at the far end of the street. There’s a desk there for him to place his books so he grabs a few on mythology and takes a seat, hoping against hope that some foreign novel has something, anything, on his condition. He reads until there’s a tap on his shoulder. He doesn’t feel it, at first, until he senses someone near him.

It’s as if time stops; as he looks into the coffee irises of the man who tapped him, he’s instantly transported to Constantinople. He can smell the fire, the gunpowder, the loss he faced and everything that came after. He feels the Earth’s axis halt, like time is trying to catch up with itself, and it’s makes such a visceral imprint on Abramo that he reaches up and takes this mystery man’s hand.

It has to be him, after all, because there’s no mistaking that gentle smile, those kind eyes, features he hasn’t seen in several years.

And this man feels it too, because he gasps and takes a step back but never lets go of Abramo’s hand.

“It’s you!” he exclaims, eagerness on his face. “You’re the one I’ve been dreaming about!”

Abramo gives him a lopsided smile; there’s no way he can possibly relate, but it’s fascinating all the same. To know that his soulmate has been dreaming of him, why, it’s almost too good to be true.

The other man’s face breaks into a smile. “I’m Mino,” he says, laughing. “I can’t believe I’ve finally found you.”

“What did you dream about?” Abramo asks, standing up. He’s the shorter of the two this time and the thought makes him laugh.

“There was a fight. There were hundred of us, the fight was very brutal. I...I don’t think I made it, but I know you did,” Mino says carefully. “I dreamt of fire, artillery, the sound of canons. It was all very devastating.”

What an understatement.

“Yeah, that was you. You died on the battlefields of Constantinople. I’m so, so sorry for leaving you, but I gave you a soldier's burial,” Abramo says, gently kissing the back of Mino’s hand.

“I’m sure I would’ve appreciated it,” Mino says before dissolving into a coughing fit. Instantly, Abramo is on high alert. He’s aware of the plague that passed over Europe centuries ago, and although it’s gone now, that doesn’t stop him from being worried.

“Are you okay?” he asks, deeply concerned. _I’ve only just reunited with him and now he’s leaving again._

Hesitantly, Mino shakes his head. “Typhoid fever,” he says, and Abramo sucks in a breath. “They say it’s curable but it’s been so long and I’m not sure the physician knows what he’s doing.”

“H-how long do you have?” Abramo asks, voice barely above a whisper. He dreads the answer.

“I don’t know. A few weeks, hopefully, but like I said, I’m not sure our healer knows his stuff,” Mino responds.

Abramo just shakes his head. He finally stands up and gathers Mino into his arms. “I’ve lost you once, I don’t think I can lose you again.”

“There must be something we can do,” Mino says, sighing deeply. He chokes on his own breath and erupts into coughs again, pushing Abramo away.

 _There must be something we can do._ It takes Abramo a minute to put the pieces together but when he does, his heart breaks. He could turn his lover into a vampire and they could watch the world develop together, but that wouldn’t be fair to either of them. There’s still so much Abramo doesn’t know about being a vampire, and living with the constant cravings is more than unbearable. Besides, he would never subject his soulmate to this kind of life: one where feeding on animals is the only way to survive, one where roaming the Earth is the perpetual state of being, one where several centuries of solitude is the norm.

No, he could never. He would rather find Mino in the next life, happy and healthy and whole. He deserves that, at least.

And what if Mino regrets it? There’s no cure for vampirism; it’s not something one can easily take back. It’s pretty much irreversible and the permanence of such a decision is not something to be taken lightly.

“I don’t think there is,” Abramo whispers once he mulls it over, and he hates himself for it.

“Then how did you survive all of these years?” Mino asks, and that’s it, that’s the million dollar question, and it’s not a matter of _surviving,_ it’s a matter of _hoping_ and Mino will never understand that.

“I didn’t,” he says truthfully because even though he’s alive, he sometimes wishes he wasn’t.

“You’re so selfish,” Mino says, but he seems to understand because he hugs Abramo closer. Abramo just sobs into his chest, wondering once again why life's so unfair to him.

“I know. I’m so sorry,” he responds truthfully. If only he were stronger, if only he had it in him to bite Mino and get it over with. If only he were brave.

They finally release one another and Abramo steals a kiss out desperation. When they break apart, it feels like agony.

It’s even more heartbreaking when Abramo comes back to the library the next day and Mino isn’t there. He isn’t there the next day or the day after that, or the day after that. He goes to the physician who is every bit as unhelpful as Mino had said.

He didn’t know it was possible to break his own heart, and yet…

He flees, like always, heartsore in all the worst ways.

_~_

He’s bitter.

Decades have passed since Italy. He doesn’t get any older physically, but mentally he feels ancient, like his thoughts are cobwebs, stuffy and entangled. And he’s so, so goddamn angry. How is it he’s meant to walk this Earth alone, always searching, never quite reaching? How is it he hasn’t seen the sun but feels like he’s on fire every time he even thinks of his soulmate? Why does he have to be _immortal,_ never aging, always running, never quite satisfied with his existence? Why did this have to happen to _him_ of all people, when there were thousands of them back then, thousands of soldiers to choose from?

He’s on his way to Asia now, still searching, still doleful, still every bit as bitter.

Asia is kinder to him, albeit by a small margin. He changes his name again because centuries have passed and he wants to put as much of a the past behind him as possible. He enters China as Haywood and is surprised to find himself welcomed with open arms.

In China, he learns everything.

They know about vampires, here, and it’s as every bit rewarding as it is devastating. There’s no end to his existence (he should know, he’s tried to die by his own hand many, many times. Sometimes, he wishes he was successful because being dead is better than being immortal), and there’s no end to his cravings. Although he swore to himself he would never drink the blood of a human, he can’t resist it after a few centuries of drinking animals. He succumbs every now and then, preying on the dying or dead.

It’s disgusting.

He also learns more about reincarnation. An older man tells him that reincarnation sometimes skips centuries, which makes it beyond impossible to track. Although Haywood has been having luck finding his soulmate so far, nothing is guaranteed.

He understands that when it’s the mid 1700s and he searches every square inch of China for his soulmate. He’s not there; there’s no chocolate eyes that glint in recognition, there’s no one having strange dreams about battles and disease.

It makes Haywood even more bitter, and it claws at his heart; although it doesn’t beat, it feels constricted in all the worst ways. It’s like he’s missing something, a vital part of himself that he can’t seem to get back no matter how hard he tries.

Is this what his existence is going to be like? Will he forever be doomed to walk the Earth, searching for his soulmate, leading a journey that doesn’t have a destination? What will he do until the Sun explodes? How long will he survive the cruelness of longevity with no one to share it with? Isn’t that the point of life, after all? To love and to be loved in return?

And after? When the planets cease to exist, when the Sun wipes out all life, when there’s no guarantee of existence somewhere else in the realm of space? Is he just going to float forever, examining the inky blackness until that too finds it’s end?

He leaves China for Korea because he can’t handle learning anymore. That’s all he’s been doing since Constantinople and although he likes understanding more about his condition, sometimes he just can’t take the way it makes him feel, like he’s hopeless and that life isn’t worth living, like it’s not worth continuing.

Korea is largely uneventful. He doesn’t find his soulmate anywhere and wonders briefly if he’s in the right part of the world. His soulmate could be anywhere, after all, and he’s constantly plagued by thoughts of _I’m too late, he’s not here, I should just give up._

He’s half tempted to leave Asia all together. The United States has just been granted independence and he hears it’s better over there, but he stops himself at the last minute.

 

* * *

 

_1800 - Japan_

He finds Ryu quite on accident. He never meant to piss off the shogunate but that’s exactly what he ends up doing. One minute he’s foraging for blood near the outskirts of the city and the next, he’s fighting a samurai in the streets of Osaka. He only manages to win against the samurai due to his immortality; no matter how many times he gets stabbed, he doesn’t die and it’s clearly taking its toll on his opponent. Though masked, he can tell the samurai is both exhausted and irritated; his movements are sloppy and imprecise, a stark contrast from their earlier bout.

He manages to unmask his opponent by sheer luck and he feels time halt once again. Every single atom freezes in the span of a second and really, he can’t believe he just fought his soulmate.

The samurai’s realization is visceral; he drops his sword and stands there, stunned. He looks conflicted and Haywood understands why. Does he drop everything for his soulmate and disobey the shogunate in order to be with the person he’s destined for, or does he remain loyal to a corrupt system and turn his back on the one thing he’s waited his entire life for?

Haywood can see the conflict in the samurai’s copper eyes. He waits, breathless, until finally, his soulmate comes to a conclusion.

“Let’s go,” he says, offering a hand. Haywood takes it without hesitation.

They run as far away from Osaka as they can. In fact, they end up on an entirely different island, but the journey goes surprisingly easy. They don’t stay in one place for very long, sometimes even changing locations twice a day, and that’s how it has to be. Treason, especially against the shogunate, can lead to dire consequences, ones that will certainly make Haywood’s journey for naught.

They talk as they travel, trying to get in as much time with each other as possible. Once they settle, even if it is for a short while, they pretend they aren’t being followed. If they both weren’t so paranoid about being caught, their conversations might be more fulfilling but it’s good for what it is. Besides, once they get away, they can spend forever talking and Haywood refuses to chicken out this time. He makes a promise to himself: once they’re safe, he’s turning Ryu, and together they can voyage eternally.

The journey from Nagoya to Nagano is virtually silent, save for them making sure they aren’t being followed. They travel by the cover of night, quiet in their movements.

Eventually, they rush to Sendai because they get wind of the shogunate’s plans to kill; they are committing high treason, after all, as a samurai never neglects his duties. Ryu sometimes looks like he wants to turn away, wants to go back home and start over, like he’s regretting ever leaving Osaka. But everytime Haywood questions him, he just gets back up and keeps walking, silent.

They settle in Sapporo, miles and miles away from Osaka. It’s nice, finally having some stability.

“How’re you feeling?” Haywood asks. He plants his gaze directly on Ryu, who looks devastated. Shyly, he takes Ryu’s hand, gently stroking it with his thumb. Ryu doesn’t answer right away; how can he, when he just betrayed the most powerful people in the country, when he threw away everything he’s ever worked for for a chance at love? Perhaps a better question to ask is, “Do you regret it?” and part of Haywood’s fragile heart breaks because he realizes that his soulmate is under no obligation to love him back.

Ryu takes a deep breath, pulling his hand away. Haywood lets it fall. “No, I don’t,” he says firmly, and Haywood smiles.

“I’m glad,” he replies easily, the corners of his lips upturning into a smile that Ryu doesn’t mimic. It’s a samurai’s discipline to be stoic, after all.

“I don’t want you to do this,” Ryu says finally, sighing. “I don’t want to...to be like you, to have to live like this forever.” It stings, but Haywood knows Ryu’s right. This is exactly what he’s been telling Ryu’s previous incarnations, but being on the opposite end of the argument feels like a slap in the face.

“Not even after all that? All that you gave up?” he says, pleading. It’s ironic how he’s the one asking now.

“Especially not,” Ryu says. He doesn’t look at Haywood. Instead, his gaze is transfixed onto something in the distance, something Haywood can’t quite see, not even with his enhanced vision. “I can’t spend my entire life running away. I can’t spend forever dodging my sins, escaping my truths. I don’t think I can live like this, a traitor to my own country.” He pauses, picking at the grass at his feet. “You’re worth it. You’re beyond worth it. I just don’t think I’m worth it.”

Haywood wants to laugh. If he doesn’t, there’s a very real possibility he’ll cry. So he settles for laying next to Ryu in the grass, staring up at the stars.

They promise each other forever. Maybe not in this lifetime, but maybe the next if Haywood can find him again.

For now, though, it’s not meant to be.

They try to make the most of it, and for a while, it’s oddly domestic. Haywood stays at home when it’s light out and Ryu carefully scavenges for whatever they need. He’s the sneakier one of the two, after all, and when day turns to night, he keeps a lookout while Ryu sleeps.

In the early, early morning, when the sun is just coming up over the horizon and dawn emerges, Haywood steps outside, reveling in the stillness of the world. Time can’t reach him while the sun is rising, and even though he’ll have to come back inside momentarily, he still finds it within himself to relax.

He wants to wrap up this moment in his memory and keep it with him. For the first time in eons, he feels calm, unafraid, _whole._ Yes, there’s still that lingering thought in his mind that they’re going to be found, that the shogunate has caught up with them, but the sunrise looks timeless and besides, after centuries spent searching, he figures he can enjoy the moment for once.  

Going back inside is by far the worst decision he’s ever made in his life. In the span of a second, his entire world is ripped away from him _again_ and it’s not fucking _fair._ The air is tangy with the scent of blood, blood, blood, there’s waves of it, staining the floors crimson.

At first, he can’t believe it. Ryu said he didn’t regret running away, but his body betrays his earlier words. A _t_ _antō,_ one of his own, sticks out against the burgundy of his abdomen leaving behind a single clean line. Ruby red innards overflow, signifying the amending of weakness, an expression of regret, a request for forgiveness.

Ryu’s suicide hurts in a way his past deaths haven’t. Knowing that he died by his own hand this time is absolutely horrendous because _it’s Haywood’s fault_. If only they hadn’t run away, if only he wasn’t so determined to find Ryu in this lifetime, if only he said no to Ryu’s insistence that they flee -  he might still be alive.

A sick, sick part of him wants to lap up all of the liquid so that his thirst will be satiated, but he refuses to succumb to this urge. He’s resisted the desire of human blood for a very long time, and drinking his lover’s blood seems depraved.

He doesn’t want to leave the body there, but what can he do? He can’t take it back to Osaka; the shogunate would dispose of his body, glad that he’s dead.

He knows he’s a coward for running away. He knows he’s a coward for not turning Ryu when he had the chance, for not burying him and giving his body the respect he deserves. So he flees, this time by boat, and he never, ever wants to see the color red again.

 

 

* * *

_1930 - New Orleans_

He skips the First World War - he’s fought too many battles, seen too many people die for him to be comfortable. In hindsight, it would be a good thing to do considering the immortality, but he just can’t bring himself to care. The world isn’t his problem anymore. Maybe it never was in the first place. How can it be, when the world has consistently stripped away everything he’s ever loved? When he’s lost, time and time again, when reward has never been his to reap? No, the world doesn’t deserve his help, not after all he’s been through.

Technology truly is a marvel; he was in Constantinople when gunpowder was first being used, but the fact that it’s commonplace now and has done so much damage is horrifying. So many innocent lives were lost, and for what? Some insignificant archduke who wouldn’t have made the history books anyway?

He watches the battle unfold and misses the Roaring Twenties on purpose. Wars aren’t won without some sort of fallout, and yes, everything seems okay after years of destruction, but if there’s anything he’s learned after centuries of being alive, it’s that the good times don’t last forever. He’s therefore unsurprised when the Depression hits; really, who could ever be ignorant enough to think that the prosperousness would be sustainable?

He chooses to be Lawrence in this lifetime, and it’s not even for a significant reason. All he wants, this time, is for some version of cosmic justice to be done unto him so that he’ll finally be at the mercy of karma, instead of the macrocosm’s order of law. He’s getting real sick and tired of the universe conspiring against him, after all.

In this epoch, they don’t even meet. A part of him is thankful and another part of him is upset; what’s the point of looking if he’s going to find his soulmate anyway? At least this time, if his true love slips from his grasp, it won’t hurt. He hasn’t made a connection to them, so it should be easier to let them go, right?

Lawrence takes a walk besides Lake Pontchartrain one day, just because. It’s easy for him to ignore the suffering going on around him when it doesn’t affect him; he can’t die from frostbite, starvation, or disease. Still, he’s disillusioned by the misery and the bleakness that plagues the United States. He sits on a bench, thinking, because the last four hundred and seventy seven years have made him into a different person. He’s no longer the capable, obedient, courageous soldier he once was. No, he’s morphed into a caged animal, a weak, grief-stricken parasite that isn’t strong enough to fight anymore.

He’s lost in thought when he sees something floating in the lake. At first, he doesn’t know what it is; it only looks to be swathed in rags. As it floats downstream, Lawrence can see it’s a body. He thinks it’s unusual for a drowning victim to be face up, but that’s exactly how he finds…...his soulmate? One glance is all it takes; he looks into the cold, empty chestnut eyes of his soulmate and realizes that he’s too late, this time. He didn’t even get a chance to save him, to say hi to him, to get to know him, and yet here he is, dead on arrival.

Lawrence feels so useless; again, there’s nothing he can do. He gets up from the bench and picks a flower that grows by the lake. It’s bright purple. He thinks his soulmate would’ve liked it, had he been alive. Gently, he tosses the flower onto the cadaver and watches the stream carry the body away.

 

* * *

 

_Present day - Los Angeles_

He’s Shane in this century; he picked the name out of a phonebook whilst teaching himself how to use the internet. Technology really has come so far, and it’s kind of incredible. It’s also helped him with his condition; he reads _Dracula_ as soon as he finds out what ebooks are and he’s pleasantly surprised to find out how accurate it is. He really wishes he could turn into a bat, though. That said, he can’t bring himself to pick up _Twilight._ Although it promised vampires, it’s a pretty garbage portrayal; he doesn’t sparkle, god dammit!

He feeds more regularly now, and doesn’t bite anyone to do it. He learns about things called blood drives, places where people willingly give up their blood to help others, usually those with blood deficiencies, or ones that need transfusions.

So Shane pretends to hold a blood drive. Posing as a member of the Red Cross isn’t that much of a crime, right? Besides, he _needs_ the blood. In fact, he would go so far as to say that he needs the blood more than some patients in the hospital do. It has almost been a century since he’s last fed, and honestly, he kind of misses the taste of it. Really, at this point, it’s more about the novelty of the thing. It sure beats breaking into a hospital and stealing blood from the elderly, at any rate.

He’s not expecting to find his soulmate at the donation stand. At first, he doesn’t even think it is his soulmate, but he can always tell. What gives it away is not the eyes, this time. No, it’s the smile, big and bright and so genuinely _happy_. Seeing his soulmate happy makes him happy, and for the first time in a long time, he too cracks a grin.

“Hey, so, I’ve never given blood before,” his soulmate says, and Shane’s smile only grows.

“Don’t worry, it’s painless,” Shane responds. He takes the other man’s arm in hand and can hear the gasp he lets out. He doesn’t say anything, though. He has hope for this one and wants to form their relationship organically. Maybe that was the problem, before. Maybe they’d rush into things too soon on the principle of soulmates alone. Maybe this time they can fix that.

“I don’t like needles,” he says as Shane preps the skin.

“Don’t worry, it won’t hurt,” Shane assures. The procedure is done very quickly; he has an ingenious way of taking the blood through the needle at a fast enough pace to where the donor doesn’t realize how much blood Shane is actually taking. Its foolproof, really. He should’ve been doing this to people with leeches in the Renaissance.

“There you go, you’re all set,” Shane says, patching up his soulmate. He taps on the bandage once he’s done and then he immediately turns away, happy to have gotten some of his precious blood. Really, he has no intention of drinking the blood of his soulmate, but hey, if he ever needs it….

“I’m Ryan,” the donor says, and Shane smiles. Ah, perfect. They’re really off to a great start.

“Hi, Ryan. I’m Shane,” Shane replies. He wants to tell Ryan that he’s a vampire just to see the look on his face but decides that’s a second meeting type of conversation. He doesn’t want to scare Ryan away, after all.

“Hi, Shane,” Ryan says with a laugh. And then, “Do you come here often?”

“Only when I need blood, you see. It’s my beverage of choice in these trying times,” Shane responds, grinning.

“Ah yes, blood is the only acceptable drink in this economy,” Ryan says. “What with inflation and all, it truly starts tasting like the nectar of the gods.”

_If only he knew…_

“You’ve got to do what you’ve got to do. Ever since the market for water has declined, well, what are we supposed to drink? _Milk,_ like _savages?_ Or perhaps _soda?_ I can’t possibly be responsible for keeping the dentists in business,” Shane replies.

Ryan laughs and Shane really likes the way it sounds, pleasant and full and so, so warm.

“Soda? Why, you must be rich, sir. I haven’t had a can of soda in years, not since before the housing bubble burst,” Ryan says in a silly voice, one that’s high pitched. There’s a hint of an accent there, somewhere, perhaps a bit southern?

“I guess I can drink alcohol,” Shane supplies. “There’s just too many options to choose from! What am I gonna tell that poor bartender?” he continues, mimicking Ryan’s impression.

“You’d have to ask the bartender for a diet blood,” Ryan says, and this time, there’s more of that country accent. It’s pretty funny, to be honest, especially because of how much of a contrast it is from his normal voice.

“I’d love some diet blood,” Shane replies. He gets the idea to scrawl his phone number on a business card. “Call me when you’re free,” he says, dropping the act after handing it over.

Ryan smiles, accepting the card. “Okay, but I’ve got to warn you, drinking blood in high quantities is considered disgusting in all fifty states.”

Ryan leaves then, because his ride arrives. He waves goodbye to Shane once he gets into the passenger’s seat, and as the car drives off, Shane sighs.

He knows they’re going to make it this time.

_~_

Ryan texts him pretty quickly. Shane has just packed up his fake blood drive equipment and is ready to go back home, but his phone buzzes in his pocket. He waits until he’s at his apartment to answer; he doesn’t want to seem desperate, after all.

_Do you want to get some diet blood? I know a good bar in town we can go to._

Shane laughs. He’s finally met someone who can match his sense of humor; after years of cynicism, it’s pretty refreshing.

 _Sure,_ he texts back. He debates on whether or not to use an emoji, and in that time, Ryan texts him again.

 _Cool. Meet me at_ The Rooftop _in an hour._

_~_

Shane is unsure what to expect. He’s never been on a date before. No, he’s relied on the power of true love and the fact that they were soulmates the last couple times, so this experience is entirely new to him. He doesn’t know how to dress, either. Even after perusing the many articles he finds online about what to wear on a first date, nothing seems to sit right with him. Eventually, he throws something together and hopes it's good enough.

When he gets to the bar, he spots Ryan immediately. Should he continue the blood joke, or should he actually attempt to speak seriously? Thankfully, Ryan starts talking.

“Hey, you look great!” he says, looking Shane up and down. Shane lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“Thanks. You look great yourself,” Shane responds. “What kind of blood are you drinking?”

Ryan laughs. “Oh, you know, there’s this new blood called beer. It’s made with the blood of bread.”

“Interesting, I’ve never had this blood before,” Shane says, smiling. He orders a beer from the bar and makes sure he doesn’t call it blood.

“So, do you collect blood from strangers often, or is that just a side job?” Ryan asks once they’re seated.

“Would you believe me if I told you I was a vampire?” Shane responds, testing the waters. Ryan just raises a curious eyebrow. “I kind of need the blood so that I don’t rot. I can’t die, you see, but you know, after many centuries, blood becomes recreational.”

Ryan nods. “I get it, Twilight,” he says, smiling, and Shane gasps over dramatically.

“How dare you! I am not a pretty boy! I don’t sparkle!” he says.

“Well, I think you’re pretty,” Ryan says, taking a sip of beer. Shane blushes.

“Uh, thank you,” he says, smiling shyly. He’s never really thought of his appearance before; if he spent as much time looking in mirrors as he did looking for Ryan in his past lives, well, he might not even be here to tell the tale.

“I believe you’re a vampire,” Ryan says seriously. “I can see your fangs. People don’t just wear those around unless they have a kink, and besides, you’re not Red Cross verified. I checked. Oh, and your eyes are still red. I don’t know much about colored contacts, but if you aren’t a vampire, I really appreciate the commitment.”

“Wow, you caught me,” Shane replies, impressed. Ryan nods.

“Yeah, you’re way too flirty to collect blood, dude. But besides that, you look like a vampire. You know, you have a pale complexion, you’re tall and skinny, you trick people out of their precious blood. Good cover, by the way, I’m actually in awe with how authentic your little drive was.”

“Thank you! I moisturize,” Shane says. This makes Ryan laugh again.

“No problem,” Ryan says easily. He takes another sip of beer and the conversation settles itself into an easy silence.

Ryan is nothing like he was in his previous lifetimes. He’s outgoing, boisterous, and doesn’t jump at the idea of being together just because they’re soulmates. It’s nice, really, getting to know him and taking things slow instead of making rash decisions. Really, they have all the time in the world to get to know each other.

“So, I had a great time tonight,” Ryan says at the end of their date. Shane walks Ryan to his car. Realistically, he doesn’t want to say goodnight to Ryan, or goodbye for that matter, because a small part of him is afraid he’s going to lose Ryan again.

“I had a great time too. You’re really funny,” Shane says, laughing.

“Thanks,” Ryan says, biting his lip. He has to stand on his tippy toes to press a kiss to Shane’s whiskered cheek. “I’ll call you, okay?”

“Okay,” Shane says, smiling. He wants to kiss Ryan properly but the smaller man is already in his car. He waits until Ryan drives off to celebrate.

Yeah, they’ll be okay.

_~_

They go on a few more dates before they consider themselves “dating”. Shane’s particular favorite is a little coffee shop a few blocks away from Ryan’s apartment. It’s very quaint and cozy, perfect for that random rainy day that focuses its sights on Los Angeles.

They get to know each other very well. Ryan one hundred percent believes in Shane’s vampirism and wants to know all about it, and that’s when the subject of reincarnation comes up. Ryan listens, interest piqued.

“Wait, so the first time you met me, I was a soldier?” Ryan asks, eyes wide.

“Yeah, in Constantinople. You were the only one smart enough to guess that the Ottomans were going to attack us,” Shane replies. Ryan nods, curious.

“How did I die?” he asks. Shane pretends that question isn’t painful.

“You were impaled on your own sword,” Shane whispers. It’s hard for him to talk about, even now. Ryan frowns.

“And the time after that?” he asks.

“Disease. Typhoid fever. You just stopped showing up at the library one day,” he says, remembering Italy.

“And after that?” Ryan asks gently.

“You...you killed yourself, after that.” Ryan audibly gasps and Shane reaches for his hand. “That was, by far, the worst of your deaths.”

“Were there any more?” Ryan asks after a moment.

“You drowned in New Orleans eighty seven years ago,” he supplies. Ryan whistles.

“Well, I’m sorry for leaving you behind every time,” he says, lacing their fingers together. “I hope I don’t die on you anytime soon.”

“Don’t jinx it,” Shane nearly growls. He’s tired of losing Ryan to circumstance.

“Sorry,” Ryan says. He looks speculative, for a moment. “You know, all of that makes sense. I’ve always been afraid of knives. Water, not so much.”

Shane shrugs. “Guess that means I’m making dinner,” he says, and Ryan smiles.

“Guess so,” he says, leading Shane out of the coffee shop.

~

He’s dating Ryan for longer than he’s known Ryan in some of his lifetimes. It’s nice, having him there all the time, safe and sound. The longer they’re together, the more Shane believes they’ll last, and that is a thought he doesn’t ever remember having.

Their relationship starts off slowly; they don’t do much more than hold hands the first few months, but when Ryan kisses him on the doorstep of his apartment, things start to get a lot more heated. He doesn’t exactly let Shane inside, but his kiss swollen lips leave a promise of something more and it’s tantalizing.

“Let’s go to the beach,” Ryan suggests eventually, when it’s too hot to function. Boredom is obviously driving him insane and making him stir crazy.

“I can’t go out into the sun, Ryan, you know this,” Shane replies. He stays inside most days, unless he’s holding a blood drive.

Ryan is quiet for a moment, pondering. “Why don’t vampires just use sunscreen?” he asks, and it’s a serious question too, because he looks Shane straight in the eyes, leaving no room for argument.

Shane laughs. “You know, that’s a valid question,” he says. “I’ve never tried that before.” Usually he relies on hoodies, jeans, and sunglasses to keep him away from the sun when he absolutely has to be outside during the day.

“Well, then, I’ll get sunscreen and we can go. Do you know how to swim?” Ryan asks, and Shane stops in his tracks because he _remembers_. It’s a wound far too fresh for him to be anywhere near comfortable, and it sucks even more because Ryan doesn’t seem to get it, he doesn’t seem to remember in the same way Shane does. Shane refuses to take any chances and New Orleans is too fresh in his mind to just let this go.

“What’s wrong?” Ryan asks gently, cupping Shane’s face in his hands.

“You died drowning, last time. In Lake Pontchartrain,” he says quietly, pressing his forehead to Ryan’s, willing him to understand. He can’t go through that again; he’s witnessed Ryan die too many times, too many ways.

Ryan frowns. “I’m sorry I don’t remember. I’ll be careful,” he promises, kissing Shane gently.

“I don’t think I can stand seeing you in the water at all,” Shane says when they break apart. He closes his eyes and pulls Ryan close, needing to feel that he’s solid and real and _still here._ He’s tired of Ryan dying, he’s tired of getting there a split second too late, he’s tired of coming home and worrying about whether or not Ryan’s okay.

“I won’t go in past my knees, okay?” Ryan assures. Shane tries to acquiesce but there’s something telling him that this is a bad idea, that he’s going to lose Ryan again. He’s not equipped to deal with this kind of pain anymore, but when he sees Ryan give him a confident, dazzling smile, he can’t say no.

They get to the beach and sure enough, sunscreen works. Shane just has to reapply it more often, which is good for him because it gives Ryan the excuse to rub it on his back and cuddle into his side every hour.

Ryan makes good on his promise to not get in the water. Instead, he stands by the shore, watching the waves roll in. Shane stands next to him, and even though he’s terrified by the water licking their feet, he feels a lot better when Ryan grabs his hand.

They sit on the beach and make sandcastles until it’s sunset. Another day has passed, another day in Ryan’s limited lifetime.

Sunsets feel like heartbreak, because it begs the question _how many days does Ryan have left?_  

As they watch the sun go down, they share kisses and promises and it gets heated quickly. Ryan ends up straddling Shane on the sand, smiling and laughing. Kisses turn from sweet to scorching in a matter of moments, and they’re both so into it, moaning and grinding against one another.

“Bite me, please,” Ryan begs when Shane sucks hickeys onto his boyfriend’s neck. Shane just groans in reply.

“Shane,” Ryan whines, and Shane pulls back, kissing Ryan’s shoulder.

“I’m not going to bite you, babe. What if I accidentally bite too hard and turn you?” he says. “You’re worth so much more than immortality.” He’s still tortured by his own age old argument; does he turn Ryan and have him live the rest of forever as a vampire, or does he let Ryan die only so Shane can find him again? Is it worth the risk? Forever isn’t something one can take back, but Shane doesn’t want to take any chances. Being a vampire sucks, and Ryan deserves a lot better than that.

“What if I want to be turned?” Ryan says, laying on top of Shane. The steaminess of the mood has long since been extinguished.

“I can’t do that to you,” Shane says, and Ryan doesn’t say anything.

He’s silent on the whole ride home.

~

If he’s honest with himself, Shane’s been waiting for this moment his entire life. He’s never developed a real relationship with any of Ryan’s past incarnations; they’ve never gotten to the point in their relationship where the next step is sex. No, they’ve only ever gotten to the love at first meeting portion before Ryan died. 

So when they do end up having sex for the first time, it’s absolutely magical. The time after that is even better, and so is the time after that. 

Slowly, Shane learns that Ryan is a kinky son of a gun, and sometimes, Shane has to play catch up. 

Today is one of those times. Instead of slow, loving sex, though, it’s more passionate, it’s slightly on the side of too rough, just the way he likes it. 

“ Please, Shane, please,” Ryan pleads, his body shuddering. Shane’s doing a damn good job of making Ryan desperate; the slow, languid licks he gives up and down Ryan’s cock makes the younger man tremble. 

“Begging already?” Shane says, removing his mouth long enough to talk. Ryan makes a noise akin to a squeak when Shane goes down on him again. 

“Shane, baby,  _ please, _ ” Ryan reiterates, hand tightening in Shane’s hair. 

“But Ryan, you’re so pretty when you beg,” Shane replies. He pins Ryan’s hips down with his torso because Ryan’s getting squirmy and thrusting back into Shane’s mouth and Shane doesn’t want to choke. Once he makes sure that Ryan isn’t going to move his hips too much, Shane starts speeding up a bit, taking more of Ryan into his mouth. He opens his throat up and takes Ryan all the way down, just to hear him moan. He makes the most gorgeous noises when he’s like this, and Shane is so, so turned on by it. 

“ _ Papi…”  _ Ryan groans, and Shane has to grip the sheets to stop himself from going crazy. Ryan begging is one thing, but Ryan begging in  _ Spanish  _ is another thing entirely; it never fails to get him riled up. 

Ryan’s hand pulls Shane’s hair a little too hard, a warning, and Shane pops off of Ryan’s cock. 

“Why the fuck did you stop?” Ryan asks, but Shane just grins at him. 

“You didn’t tell me not to,” Shane supplies. Ryan, not be deterred, speaks up.

“ Papi, por favor, te sientes tan bien,” Ryan says, voice breathy. Shane responds in kind; he goes down on Ryan again, this time using his hand to pump in time with licks to the tip of Ryan’s cock. “Papi, te necesito en mí. Necesito que me cojas.” 

When Ryan loses himself in pleasure, he’s an absolute mess, and this time is no different. Shane can’t distinguish what Ryan is actually saying. Sure, he’s spent time in Mexico, but that was centuries ago and besides, Ryan’s begging is not only increasing in speed, it’s increasing in frequency too. Shane goes crazy for it, grasping the sheets again. 

“Voy a venir,  _ Christ Shane,”  _ Ryan says, and Shane pops off of Ryan’s cock once more.

“Voy a devorarte, mi vida,” Shane replies. His Spanish is rough most of the time, but he knows enough to make it count. Besides, Shane’s the most turned on he’s ever been in his life. 

Ryan moans in reply, capturing Shane’s lips in a kiss. When they break for air, Shane attaches his lips to Ryan’s throat, kissing and sucking. He gives the smallest nips here and there because he knows Ryan has a biting kink, but he never bites down hard enough to scrape Ryan’s skin. That would simply be too dangerous, and Shane would never forgive himself if he accidentally turned Ryan and subjected him to a life of vampirism and immortality. 

Ryan, however, has other ideas. 

“Bite me,” he says, grinding his hips up. “I want you to mark me, to let everyone know I’m yours.” 

Shane groans, detaching himself from Ryan’s neck. If Ryan keeps this up, Shane will bite too hard and that’s the last thing he wants. 

Ryan starts whining, at that point, and Shane absolutely cannot take it. He uses his fangs to lightly scrape Ryan’s neck. He’s careful so as to not draw blood, of course, and it seems that’s enough to placate Ryan for now. 

Shane then gets to work, grabbing lube from the bedside table. Ryan spreads his legs wordlessly, and Shane makes sure to nip at Ryan’s thighs every now and then. Shane inserts one finger and says, “Beg for more.” 

Ryan does. “Amo tus dedos dentro de mí, te sientes tan bien.” 

“Sorry, what was that?” Shane says, thrusting in and out. Ryan groans. Shane could go on forever about the noises that Ryan’s making, about how good they sound and how turned on it makes him. Really, he could wax poetic about the way that Ryan moans, the way that they stutter when Shane gently bites Ryan’s thighs with his front teeth. 

“Puedo tener otro, por favor, hermoso,” Ryan gasps. Shane obliges and adds another finger, and it’s Ryan’s turn to grip the sheets. 

“Mmm, you beg so well, mi amor,” Shane says, scissoring his fingers. Ryan almost screams in pleasure. 

“Uno más, por favor, Papi,” Ryan breathes, desperate. He’s pushing against Shane’s fingers, looking for more friction. 

Shane indulges him and inserts a third finger, and Ryan’s begging turns into babbling. He strings together words in Spanish, but they’re not enough to make a full sentence. It’s frantic, almost like Ryan would do anything so seek release. 

“Shane, please, I’m gonna -” Ryan’s begging gets cut off when Shane removes his fingers. “I swear to fucking God, Shane, if you don’t fuck me, I’ll kill you myself,” he says, biting his lip. Shane kisses him once, twice, gently and sweetly, before sinking into him. 

He gives Ryan a moment to adjust, lavishing kisses on Ryan’s face. Once Ryan starts grinding his hips up, Shane starts thrusting roughly. Ryan digs his nails into Shane’s back, meeting him thrust for thrust, groaning and gasping into Shane’s shoulder. 

“ Que me jodas, Papi,” Ryan breathes, and Shane thrusts harder, angling his hips so that he can hit that spot that makes Ryan see stars. Shane groans when Ryan whimpers in his ear and tells him how much he likes it. 

“Shane, yes, god, please let me come,” he says, lost in pleasure. Shane just kisses his neck, speeding up. Ryan screams, hips held down by Shane’s large hands so that Shane can thrust even harder, moaning Ryan’s name. 

“You feel so good, baby,” Shane says, picking up the pace. He’s close, and he knows Ryan is too. “You’re always so good for me.” 

Each thrust makes Ryan howl; he’s screaming, aching for release. “Come for me, mi amor,” Shane demands, and Ryan does, screaming Shane’s name along with a litany of Spanish that’s said so fast it’s hard for Shane to translate. Shane follows after a few more thrusts, Ryan’s name on his lips. 

He pulls out, spent, but gathers Ryan into his arms all the same, so that they’re facing each other.  Shane presses soft kisses to Ryan’s face, holding him tight. Usually, the younger man responds in kind, but there’s something different, almost  _ off  _ about the way Ryan’s responding tonight. 

“Are you alright?” Shane asks with a soft kiss to Ryan’s forehead. “Was I too rough? Did I do something you didn’t like?” He trails a kiss from Ryan’s temple to the corner of his mouth. Still, Ryan doesn’t respond. 

“I’m fine. You didn’t do anything to make me uncomfortable, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Ryan says, perhaps a bit more forceful than necessary. Shane hums and kisses Ryan’s jaw. 

“Are you sure? You can always tell me if I do something you don’t like, y’know,” Shane replies. He kisses Ryan’s cheek and pulls him close. 

“I’m positive. You were great,” Ryan responds, letting out a long breath. Shane kisses him on the lips before responding again. 

“Then why won’t you kiss me back?” Shane asks. He kisses Ryan’s neck once, then twice, then presses a kiss to Ryan’s collarbone. 

“It’s just….,” Ryan trails off, running a hand through his hair. “We always try out what you want to do. Can you just bite me for once?” Ryan asks. 

Shane stops kissing Ryan then. He pulls away slightly to look Ryan in the eye. “I’ve told you a million times why I absolutely cannot do that.”

Ryan huffs and Shane just raises an eyebrow. “I love it when you take control, you know I do, but...I would really, really like to be bitten. Not too hard, just, I don’t know, maybe enough to leave a bruise?” Ryan says. 

“I’m not taking any chances,”  Shane replies. Ryan shakes his head and turns to face the other way. 

“Fine, it’s whatever,” Ryan says.  _ Dammit Shane, now he’s mad at you.  _

“Look, Ryan, you know how much I love to indulge you, but we’ve been over this before. I won’t bite you because I don’t want you to lead the same life that I lead,” Shane says, cuddling into Ryan’s side. 

“What if I want to?” Ryan whispers.

“Trust me, you absolutely do not want to become a vampire,” Shane says. He throws an arm around Ryan’s waist. 

“I think I know what I want for myself, thanks,” Ryan responds. 

“I’m not sure you do,” Shane says.

“Tell me what’s so bad about it, then,” Ryan snaps. 

“Look, Ryan, being a vampire is absolutely awful. You can’t go outside, you can’t work, have a life, or do all the things you want to do. You’re doomed to live forever.  _ Do you know how long forever is?  _ I’m going to be here when Earth blows up, when space ceases to exist. I’m going to be here, floating in nothingness, until time itself ends, and then some,” Shane replies. 

Ryan shrugs. Before he can make a counter argument, though, Shane ventures forward. “You’re going to be bitter about it. I was bitter for the first three hundred years  _ because I couldn’t find you.  _ Imagine what it’s like, watching the love of your life die on the battlefields of Constantinople, knowing that you have to live the rest of forever alone.” 

“But reincarnation --” Ryan says, but Shane just shakes his head. 

“Let me get to that. I spent centuries looking for you, Ryan. I traveled the world, and there was still no trace of you. I went everywhere; Egypt, the Americas, Asia, and you weren’t there. I couldn’t find you again until the Renaissance.” Shane takes a breath because remembering hurts sometimes. “And you died, you died each and every time, and I’ve found you in every lifetime. We’re soulmates, but I can’t...I can’t turn you. It’s selfish. You don’t deserve to drink blood to survive, to spend the rest of your days not aging. Humans live to die, Ryan, and to make the most of the time they have. What are you doing to do for the rest of forever?” 

“I’m going to be with you. I love you so, so much,” Ryan says, finally facing Shane again. He cups Shane’s face, stroking Shane’s cheekbone. “I know forever is a long time, but I’m willing to spend it with you. If we’re going to spend every single one of my lifetimes together anyway, why not make it easier for the both of us? Spare me the pain of aging and death, of growing old, of being stuck in this loop? Why not make it so that we never have to say goodbye again?” 

Shane really can’t argue with that logic, but a part of him knows that it’s not what Ryan deserves. “You say that in the moment, but think about your life as a vampire a hundred years from now. Won’t you regret it? Wouldn’t you want to die?” he asks. He’s tired. He’s so, so tired of pretending that he doesn’t want this, but he has to make sure it’s Ryan’s choice. He’s tired of losing Ryan again and again, he’s tired of questing, of scrutinizing every inch of the Earth’s surface to find him again. Mostly, he’s tired of being tired.

Ryan shakes his head. “I promised you forever, one way or another,” he whispers, kissing Shane.  That’s all it takes to convince him, and Ryan knows it. He bares his neck, and Shane doesn’t hesitate. 

He bites.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Come talk to me on [tumblr.](https://brentbennett.tumblr.com/)


End file.
